


Aesthetic

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle has a Tumblr and gets caught doing things to things that she wasn't paid to do, Dirty Talk, F/M, Housekeeper AU, Tumblr Prompt, cane smut, shirt smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous said:</p>
<p>Rumbelle prompt: Belle is Gold's housekeeper and she has a tumblr where she reblogs a lot of pictures with expensive suits, canes etc. He sees it. There might also be some soft porn on there</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gold trudged down the staircase to find his housekeeper in the hallway snapping a picture with her phone in the hallway. Again.

He didn’t know when he had first noticed Belle's obsession with taking pictures, but once he had, it seemed like that was all she did. He would have been annoyed if she’d given him any reason to be, but she did her job competently. His house was clean, his dry cleaning dropped off and picked up on time, his dinners hot and on the table when he asked… There was nothing in the contract stating that she couldn’t take pictures of his things, he just didn’t understand why she wanted to do so.

He’d stopped, mid-step, waiting to see if she’d notice he was there and what she would say to him when she did, but she merely gave the grandfather clock a flick with her dust rag and moved on towards the next item after stuffing her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

Gold would have given a lot to have been able to snatch that phone out of its tight constraint and find out what else she’d been photographing, but propriety and the very real risk of being slapped then sued prevented the impulse. His fingers twitched, rubbing together like a pickpocket addicted to the rush of the theft itself rather than the potential profit.

He cleared his throat harshly to alert her to his presence, and, ever compliant and smiling, she turned her bright blue eyes up towards him with a pleased smile.

“Good morning, Mr.Gold,” she said, in a low, accented voice before turning back to her work.

“Good morning, Miss French.” He came down the remaining three steps and breezed past her, momentarily closing his eyes at the scent of her rose perfume. Silly to use perfume when you’re just going to sweat it off during the day, he thought. He should forbid her to wear it. It was too distracting.

She followed him into the kitchen, where a teapot was steaming on the narrow wooden farmer’s table, worn smooth after decades of use. Gold had acquired it at an estate sale in Vermont thinking the satiny smooth wood would look good in his kitchen. And it did. Especially when Miss French sat her pert bottom on top of it.

“Third Thursday, Mr. Gold,” she said, looking down at him from her perch on his table with a cryptic smile. “Is there anything you want me to pay particular attention to?”

He looked up at her from his cup of tea, wondering what she was talking about before he remembered, the third Thursday of every month was polishing day. He looked around the kitchen, trying to find something that needed her care, but ever since she started working for him, she’d kept her schedule on rotation so everything that was supposed to shine, did, and everything that was supposed to be dusted, was.

There was nothing in the kitchen, all the copper pots and pans gleamed like new and the silver service was nearly blinding as it reflected the morning light. He knew the rest of the house was in just as good an order and there was probably nothing among his many trinkets that required extra polishing.

Belle leaned backward, putting her hands flat on the table behind her and her phone pushed just a little bit out of her pocket. He could just reach over and pull it out if he wanted.

Gold swallowed and looked down at his toast. “Um… I suppose the theodolite in my office could use a polishing.”

“The what?”

He glanced at her phone again, being slowly squeezed out of her pocket then back up at her, noting how blue her eyes looked in the morning light, which was a ridiculous though because they looked blue in every light, except when it was a moonless night and she’d lingered on instead of going to her home where she belonged. Then, her eyes were a stormy gray, nearly black in the low light.

He’d nearly lost his train of thought, but caught himself before the silence between them became embarrassing. “The brass surveyor's tool in my office. It looks like a small telescope on a base. You know the one?”

Her face lit up and he might have assumed she either really enjoyed polishing things or maybe she had a secret fetish for antique tools if he didn’t know any better.

“You want me to polish that, then?” she asked, making absolute sure that she was allowed to touch it, something she always did after a disastrous first week spent cleaning things she didn’t know were off limits. “The one in your office?”

He nodded, unable to keep his lips from quirking up at the corners in a small smile, noticing how her eyes widened slightly. The sun must have gone behind a cloud because her eyes seemed a shade darker than usual. He mentally shook himself and turned his concentration to his tea, now tepid and bitter on his tongue.

“Well, I’d better get to it then. Unless there’s anything _else_ you want,” she said, hesitating a beat, waiting for him to give any further instructions before she left to do her chores.

“Of course, Miss French,” he replied, knowing that as soon as she finished polishing the theodolite she would be nose deep in one of his books for the rest of the day. He had caught on a month into her employment, but as she’d always finished her work, he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed coming home to find her engrossed in some book or other, her attention completely riveted to the story in front of her. He was able to watch her unguarded for a moment or two, then, before he got caught staring, he would pretend to be irritated and she would pretend to be amused with him. It felt homey. It was a fair exchange.

Now, his anticipation in finding her curled up on his couch paled as he watched her phone pop out of her pocket and slide onto the table unnoticed by her as she scooted off. She was out the door as soon as her feet touched the floor and Gold didn’t even have time to register the fact that she was gone because of the unexpected temptation before him.

He reached over and snagged it, quickly pulling it towards him. His finger hovered over the button, undecided if he should or shouldn’t. Well, he knew he shouldn’t. It would be a gross violation of privacy.

Then again, she _had_ been taking pictures of his things for some purpose and he deserved to know what that was.

He glanced at the doorway. Belle would be back at any moment, he had to make up his mind and act quickly.

Before he could think better of it and before he lost his nerve, he pressed down on the button, mildly surprised to find that Belle didn’t use a password, and looked at the screen.

He was confused. He had expected to find her photos, but instead it was a page full of pictures of his house. And him. And him and Belle in the same room, but only barely as if they were passing each other at random times, which, he supposed they probably were, but why were these pictures here and, more importantly, why had she taken them? And what was this site?

He pressed the button again hoping to find out what he was looking at, but it just went to her home screen, though he noticed that the site seemed to sort of bleed into a blue square with a T inside.

He pressed the T to be sure and the pictures popped up again. There was a row of icons on the bottom and he pressed each one in succession hoping to find out what this was all about. The second to last one read “Activity: Caretaker” then a list of responses to the things she’d been putting online followed. He gave it a good scroll, Belle was popular it seemed.

He had no time to do any more snooping, Belle must have realized her phone was missing and he could hear her steady footsteps come closer down the hall. Quickly, he closed the screen and put it back where it had landed on the table concentrating on the crumbs on his plate in an attempt to act cool.

She swept back in. “Forgot my phone,” she explained brightly and snatched it up before pausing. “You okay, Mr. Gold?”

He looked up at her. “Hmm? Yes! Yes, I’m...fine,” he smiled at her tightly before looking back down at his plate.

“You sure? You look upset about something.”

Did he? Was he? A little bit. She had been using his house and his things and his life as a platform for… something and he wanted to ask her what it was and why she was doing it and if there was some nefarious reason behind it, but then, he would have to admit he was snooping and of the two, he was on the wrong end of the moral spectrum, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his plate.

“I’m fine, Dearie,” he mumbled, using a false endearment he reserved for his more uninteresting encounters. He hadn’t called her dearie in months.

She must have taken offense at it because she sniffed at him with a curt, “fine,” and swept out of the room leaving him feeling guilty for more than just peeking at her phone.

He got up, put his plate in the sink because he wasn’t a complete savage, and finished getting ready for the day.

 

* * *

  

In the back room of his shop, he had a shiny laptop with more bells and whistles than he needed, but he was a man who was used to the finest things and so he insisted on having a computer that provided more than he required because it was the best available. It was good for keeping track of sales and inventory and he found creating a website for his business was also fairly simple because all he needed was a nice picture with contact information. That left a lot of room on his hard drive.

Business was normally slow on Thursday afternoons so, after lunch, he opened it up and got down to tracking down Belle’s mysterious website.

Finding the site was easy enough through Google and, after a few wrong turns, he’d found it within the black hole that was Tumblr.

He was so confused. He couldn’t tell what was going on. There were the pictures, but they didn’t make any sense to him because why would these particular objects be important to Belle? Pictures of the empty picture frames he’d left in the hallway? The books he could understand since she loved reading so much, but why the small sparrows on his mantle? And what did “aesthetic” even mean? How did that make a proper caption? And why was it usually the only caption on every picture?

He scrolled back up to look at Belle’s title and blog description, blinking rapidly when the words registered.

 

**Caretaker**

**20-something housekeeper for a rather**

**large estate along Coastal Maine.**

**My employer likes his things.**

**I like my employer.**

 

His jaw went slack as he read and re-read her words, trying to decipher what Belle meant by “like.” Maybe he had the wrong site after all? But, no, those were _his_ things in _his_ house and those were _Belle_ ’s slender fingers holding _his_ tea cup and those were _her_ lips pressed against… oh.

Beads of sweat sprang up on his forehead as he went through pages and pages of Belle’s pictures. Most of them were innocent enough. Artfully taken, cropped to keep any real identifying information out, for which he was profoundly thankful, but every once in a while there would be a picture that gave him a glimpse of Belle’s anatomy that had him straining in his pants in a very short amount of time.

The pictures weren't pornographic, but they were suggestive and the way she held up a chipped teacup between her cleavage, exposed by several buttons she'd undone just for the picture — she must have known what this would have done to him had he stumbled upon them.

There was another picture, again not revealing any more of her face than the corner of her mouth and chin, but, she'd stripped down and donned one of his shirts — the dark blue one with the darker roses embossed on it— leaving it unbuttoned, exposing the swell of her naked breasts and her soft belly with the waistband of her underwear just peaking out from her jeans which were left undone.

There wasn't a caption, but there was something called a tag which read "TMI Tuesday" so he clicked on it.

Fuck.

Oh, _fuck_.

Tuesdays were rapidly becoming his favorite day of the week as he scrolled down looking at the pictures, all of them captionless, most of them exposing anatomy that Belle normally kept covered in his presence and all of them including items from his wardrobe.

When he bought it, he certainly never meant his pocket square to be worn in such a manner, covering up an area of her creamy thighs that looked inviting and soft and and forbidden. He took out the handkerchief that was folded up in his pocket, giving it an experimental sniff, but either she’d never used it for her photo sessions or she’d made sure to have them cleaned after use.

He carelessly tucked it back into his pocket, wondering if he was crossing a line by looking at these pictures. He was on a publicly accessed site, yes, but Belle had obviously never intended to share them with him personally. He felt like a lech. A dirty, horny lech who would never be able to look at his spare cane again without blushing. As it was, he had no idea how he was going to face his housekeeper after work without exploding in his pants the second he laid eyes on her.

He refreshed the page with a shaking hand and the first picture that popped up was the one he’d caught her taking earlier, except it wasn’t of his clock at all as he originally thought. It was of him coming down the stairs only you didn’t see his face, it was from the neck down, with the golden handgrip shining in the morning light coming through the window and he would have admired the shot as a whole, but he was arrested more by the fact that Belle’s face was partially in the picture as well. Just as she’d cropped out his face, she’d mostly left out her own, or angled the phone so as not to reveal it fully, leaving only the glimpse of her downy cheek and part of her gorgeous mouth. Her tongue poked out a bit between her teeth in her concentration and he’d never seen anything sexier in his long life.

The caption read, “My favorite tie.”

He looked down at it. It was the black one with the swirly red bits. Or was it red with swirly black bits? He couldn’t tell, except that now he knew that Belle liked it. Knew his ties well enough to have a favorite in fact. He dimly wondered which of his ties was her least favorite, but that got sent to the bottom of his ever growing list of questions. The first of which was what the hell did she do all day?

She seemed to like his shirts and ties and canes the most, he noticed as he went through her archives, and sometimes he came across candid photos of himself in the background, anonymous and sometimes blurry, but always with her lips biting back a smirk that looked like more than just Belle making fun of him as he’d originally thought. The idea that maybe she liked him — liked him as much as he liked her — flitted about his skull like a bird in a cage before it settled down and roosted. She liked him. Wanted him, too. Maybe.

Underneath the picture of his spare cane being held between her spread knees was another, this time with a title called Third Thursday, which featured his theodolite and Belle. She wasn't doing anything untoward with it, unless pressing her opened, pouty lips to its side as if she was breathing on it before giving it a good polishing could be counted as lewd, which he didn't. Well, he didn’t use to. He didn’t use to think his maid polished his things with her shirt off either.

Third Thursday had its own tag and those revealed a different side to Belle than he'd previously thought possible. He knew the items in his house gleamed, but he didn’t know how she went about it. He thought about the silverware he used regularly and wondered if she polished them topless, too. Would he ever be able to eat his meals without a raging hard on again? Would he be able to use his own tea service without wondering where that spout had been?

According to the pictures, that particular spout had been kissed and then polished with the special cloths he had specifically for the purpose, but she had been stripped down to her naughties and only the cloth and the teapot itself preserved her modesty.

He slapped the laptop shut, unable to take any more, then, just as quickly, opened it back up and refreshed the page, equally unable to keep away.  There were no more recent pictures. Either they hadn’t been uploaded yet or she was finished teasing him for the day.

He shut it again and stood up, grabbing his cane and pacing the floor of his backroom irritably. What did it all mean? Why the exhibitionist streak inside his house? What if he came home early and caught her in flagrante? Was that half the point? The thrill that perhaps he would walk into his house at any moment to find her bent over his kitchen table taking a picture of her breasts with her rosy nipples barely hidden by his sugar bowl?

He strode out to the front of the store, slashing at the heavy curtain with his cane, but he knew there would be no sale, no debt collection, no deal that would soothe him when he knew that his housekeeper was probably half-naked and wearing his clothes right at that moment.

He drummed his fingers on the glass counter, thinking about what she might be doing, which shirt she might be wearing. Would she choose the brushed linen shirt that was just retrieved from the cleaners the day before or did she prefer something already worn, something that had his scent on it and soft after a day’s use?

Did it matter to her that they were his shirts at all?

I like my employer. Those were her words. She’d written them herself on an anonymous website for all the world to see when she could have written anything in the world without fear that he’d find it. Not “I hate my employer” not “I think my employer is an ass” but _I like my employer_. He swallowed heavily, feeling his chest tighten with the unfamiliar stirrings of hope.

Fuck it all. There was nothing that was going to happen on a Thursday that was more important than Belle in his home doing… whatever it was she was doing.

He was out the door and in his stifling hot car before he could think better of it, the hypnotic images of Belle wearing his clothes pulling him towards his house like a moth drawn to a grenade that was about to go off. He was going to get himself into trouble, he knew that, but he was past caring.

His house was at the end of a quiet street in an already quiet town and, other than the open windows, there wasn’t any sign of life inside. He made no moves to be quiet, stomping up the front steps as normal, knowing that if she was doing something she oughtn't it was too late for her to hide now.

The door was unlocked and he opened it with ease, heading straight for his office, but it was empty, the theodolite shining in the afternoon light that came in through the window. She’d done her work diligently, but he was sure there was more. He strode back into the hallway where Belle popped her head out of the kitchen.

“You’re home early, Mr. Gold,” Belle said, wide-eyed and flushed, but with a smile that told him she was pleased to see him even if he was there hours before he was due. She came out, leaning against the doorway with her arms casually crossed. She was out of breath, but valiantly trying — and failing — to hide it.

Her blouse was buttoned up incorrectly and he knew, with a rush sweeping from his tingling scalp straight down to his cock that he’d just barely missed her doing something naughty. He smiled, shark-like and ready to pounce.

“Yes, I thought of something else I would like to have polished,” he said and, this time, he wasn’t mistaken as her eyes darkened minutely. There was no cloud cover to blame, no flicker of the lighting to cause it. Belle wanted him.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice breathless and husky and before he would have chalked it up to her being put out because he was home before his time, but now, with a sudden clenching of his own rapidly beating heart, that there was no fooling himself.

She licked her bottom lip, just a flick of her tongue, nothing that would draw notice normally, except he did notice, now, and he noticed that her breathing did not slow down as she had been trying to do. She was breathing through her mouth, her parted lips pink and silky and he wondered if he kissed her, would she bite?

He held up his cane, bringing it up to her eye level and told her, “My cane.”

She blinked, nonplussed. “Your cane?” She looked at the already shining golden handle then flicked her eyes back up. “You want me to polish this?”

“Yes. I want you to show me how you work."

Understanding dawned in her eyes and rather than shame, she asked in a deliciously low voice, "As I usually work or did you want third Thursday polish?"

"Third Thursday," he said, hoarsely.  

She breathed in deeply, the mismatched buttons on her shirt staring get against her, then, she let it all out in a shaky woosh. "I can do that. But you'll have to tell me exactly what you want, Mr. Gold.  Are you willing to do that?"

"Yes," he whispered and followed as she led him to the overstuffed couch he'd had brought in after she'd been working for him two months and he'd found her curled up uncomfortably on his antique horsehair settee.

He sat down, all elbows and knees and expectation, with his cane set in between his legs and his white knuckles gripping the cane tightly.

She licked her lips again, this time deliberately as if he was something she wanted to devour, and, instead of reaching for the cane, to his astonishment, she dropped to her knees in front of him.

"I could ask you how you know," Belle said, slowly unbuttoning her shirt one by one. "But I won't lie when I tell you I'm glad." She reached the last button and shrugged out of her blouse, letting it fall to the floor behind her.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

Gold swallowed heavily, his mouth suddenly dry as he took in the sight of her proud, rosy-tipped breasts and smooth, flat stomach and the slight flush spread out on her chest. She took his breath away, but before he could find it again, Belle gently took the cane from him and, making sure she had his complete attention, licked the handle from end to end with the flat of her tongue.

His sat there, eyes wide in disbelief that she actually did that in front of him. Shocked that she hadn't, in fact, taken the small marble statue on the end table and clocked him over the head with it as he deserved.

She looked at him openly, biting her lip in a way that truly made him nervous for his aging heart. "What do you want me to polish now, Mr. Gold?" she asked.

That had all kinds of implications and his brain supplied many parts of his anatomy that needed a good buffing from her beautiful lips, but he ignored them for now in favor of retrieving his cane from her loose grip and licking it along the same path she had taken.

He paused long enough to watch her reaction, finding her face growing slack as she watched him, her breathing becoming ragged and her blue eyes were blown wide with desire.

He upended the cane and ran the haft up the inside of her thigh until it reached her center. He teased her lightly with the short end just to the left of the seam of her jeans before pressing it carefully against her, watching as her eyes fluttered shut and a low hiss escaped from between her parted lips.

“Is this how you like it, Sweetheart? Is this what you want?” he asked, throatily as he rubbed her with the cane, finding the spot that made her hips buck erratically against it.

She moaned, wordlessly nodding her head. Her curls fell across her face, hiding her flushed cheeks from his view. That wouldn’t do, he thought so he took the cane away, much to her whimpering dismay, and used it to gently lift her hair away from her cheek. She turned her face, chasing the handle with her lips, licking at it wildly. He kept it just within reach, watching with wonder as she swirled it around the long tip, then sucked it into her mouth.

He could feel himself painfully straining against his pants, the urge to throw her onto her back and rut against her was barely held in check and when she opened her eyes, finally, to look at him, he took the cane from her lips, the handle coming out with a soft ‘pop’. She took a shuddering breath through her mouth, watching him.

The brought it back down to her crotch and he pressed the curved handle up, rocking it against her until her hips bucked and her head tipped back in a silent cry. This was what he wanted to see, Belle undone before him, being pleased by him, her face flushed and sweaty as she ground herself against his cane — now hot from the friction of rubbing herself against it. She came, fast and hard with a low moan escaping before she brought her teeth down, ruthlessly against the soft flesh of her lips, the moan turning into a keening as she rode out her orgasm, thrusting herself on the handgrip until she came to a jerking stop.

Gold carefully took the cane away, hooking the waistband of her jeans with the handle and pitched her forward. She fell towards his lap, her arms catching her fall on either side of his legs and her hot breath panting onto his straining crotch. She smiled shyly, then, before lowering her head to trace her tongue along his hardened length, watching him with hooded eyes.

“That’s not what I asked you to polish, Miss French,” he said through his gritted teeth.

“I’d like to,” she told him, matter-of-factly, rubbing the sides of his thighs with her tiny hands before slowly unzipping him, exposing his boxers.

“You-you would?” he stuttered, astonished that she would want to touch him. Even after all that happened, all he’d witnessed, he never imagined she would ever willingly be with him.

“Mmm, very much.” And she ducked her head to mouth at him through the silk of his shorts, up and down until he was snapping his hips at her.

“Shit,” he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as her hot mouth pressed against him. His eyes opened when he felt her hands on his chest, her fingers scrabbling for his tie, yanking it loose until the knot gave way. She slipped it out from his collar then worked at his cufflinks, a determined look on her face.

“My dear, what are you doing?” he asked stupidly because it was clear that she was stripping him down, he just didn’t know why she would want to. “It’s not pretty.”

“What makes you think so?” she muttered, tossing the cufflinks to the side, glancing at him furtively before attacking his buttons.

He had no reply that wouldn’t kill the mood and the more she worked at him, scraping at his chest with her nails as she helped him shrug the shirt off, the less he cared. If Belle wanted him topless then topless he would be. It was only fair since she had stripped down to her waist.

She greedily ripped the shirt off then flung it around her shoulders, slipping her arms through the too long sleeves but leaving it unbuttoned. “I love this shirt,” she said, bringing the soft fabric up against her breasts and rubbing it against her nipples, pinching at them with the material between her fingers.

“Do you do this often?” he gasped, holding back a groan as he watched her play with her nipples. The dark fabric of his shirt was offset by the creamy whiteness of her skin and he’d never been so enamored with anyone in his life. He adored Belle, always had, but he’d never thought he’d be allowed to be near her so intimately.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “No, not often. But I like to indulge sometimes.”

“Show me,” he pleaded, wanting to see for himself what she did when he was at work.

She nodded, breathing in deeply, slowly as she ran the silk against her delicate skin, gently at first, then rougher as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured, leaning forward to wrap his hands around her waist, drawing her near, whispering in her ear, low and rough. “You’re beautiful, Belle. Beautiful and clever and fucking sexy as hell in my shirt. If you want to wear my shirts, you don’t have to sneak around to do it. You can wear nothing but my shirts if you want, fuck yourself with them if you want.”

Her breath hitched, coming out in short, uneven bursts. “Touch me,” she moaned.

Slowly he unzipped her jeans, spreading the fly open to expose her lacy underwear. Watching her face, waiting for any sign that he was going too far, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and shoved them — jeans and panties — down to her creamy thighs. Her curls were damp and springy and temping and he ran a knuckle underneath, between her velvety and swollen lips. He caught a fingerful of her wetness and brought it up to his mouth, savoring the heady scent of her arousal before sucking it clean.

“Beautiful,” he said, again. “You are stunning, Belle. Look at you,” he told her, bringing a fistful of his shirt up to her sex. “You’re fucking my shirt,” he murmured, as she rocked against his hand, the slippery fabric growing wet. “Your pussy is fucking gorgeous, Belle. You feel so soft and wet and you taste delicious. I could lay you across my kitchen table and bury my tongue inside you. Drink you down until you scream.” He found her fleshy nub and worked at it gently with a swath of his shirt, running his finger in ever narrowing circles. “Do you like the feel of my shirts, Darling? Do they make you come, the silk pressed up against your skin? Do you like to touch yourself with them?”

“Yes!” she moaned before biting down, hard, on his shoulder as she worked towards another orgasm. “Fuck, yes! Love your shirts... Smell so good— Come so hard thinking about you.”

“That’s right, beautiful Belle, you can come now. Come on my hand as it fucks you,” he growled, nudging the shirt aside and entering her with a finger. She was hot and squeezed him tightly as he worked at her, slipping in and out of her wet cavern. He inserted another finger, then a third as she bounced against his hand, letting the fleshy part of his palm rub against her engorged clit. “That’s right, Belle," he crooned. "You’re magnificent. So beautiful. Such a treasure.” He spoke to her softly, whispering in her ear all the things he’d like to do with her, how he wanted to please her with his mouth and hands and cane and shirts and ties until she cried out with a throaty scream, rocking against the palm of his hand.

He caught her in his arms as she collapsed, tenderly kissing her sweaty temple, crooning at her as she came down from her orgasm.

“Oh god, Mr. Gold,” she said, turning her head to bury her face in his neck. “Fuck, I never thought it would be like that.”

He smiled, proudly, against the top of her head. “You’re amazing, Belle. Truly special.”

She leaned back to look at him, a small flush of embarrassment coloring her soft cheeks. “I’m sorry about your shirt,” she said with a small laugh.

“Don’t be,” he told her, wondering why she felt the need to apologize. “Next time you, uh, decide to use one, just leave it on my bed afterwards. I don’t want you to get it cleaned. Not until I’m done with it.” He didn’t think he’d needed to explain what he planned on doing with the used shirt. He wasn’t sure if he would suck it clean or use it to jerk off — perhaps both, but he knew it would feature heavily in his lonely, loveless life from now on. Maybe, if he asked nicely, Belle would let him pleasure her again. Maybe, if he was very good, she would let him kiss her.

She reached down and cupped him, kneading at his hard cock gently before slipping her hand into his opened trousers and the slit of his boxers, bringing him out into the open. Her eyes widened in appreciation at the sight of his hard, swollen length. "You've been holding out, Mr. Gold," she told him before wrapping her hand around him.

“Next time I use one of your lovely shirts you’re liable to find me stretched out on your bed wearing it. I'll use it until it's soaked then let you finish me off.” She ran her hand along his length once, twice, three times before the mental picture she’d painted for him and his already strained to the brink need brought him over the edge with a grunt.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned into her hair. The scent of her perfume combining with the flavor of her arousal overwhelmed him and he poured himself into her tiny hand, jerking his hips helplessly as she stroked him.

“Yeah, I’m definitely going to have to have polishing day more often,” she told him, smugly. “It’s about time you started pulling your own weight around the house.”


	2. Selfie Stick

 

Friday morning, Belle had arrived with a small smile on her face and, except for a slight flush to her cheeks when he came stumbling down the stairs, acted as if nothing had changed between them. As if she hadn’t spent Thursday afternoon riding his cane or his hand and that she most certainly hadn’t wrapped her lithe fingers around his cock and pumped him to a shamefully quick orgasm. He felt unsettled by her nonchalant attitude and didn’t know how to act as a result, so he said nothing, reverting back to the persona of indifferent employer to make up for her lack of enthusiasm at his presence.

She didn’t take a picture. Maybe it was his tie.

He didn’t know what to expect that morning after everything changed, but it certainly wasn’t tea and toast placed on the kitchen table as usual with only the light flick of her dusting rag against his ear to show that some things, at least, were different.

He kept his laptop up front in the showroom while he waited for customers, periodically refreshing her Tumblr for the day’s pictures, but all they showed was a selection of his Limoges porcelain and, once, a bouquet of peonies brought in from his garden, every one of which was captioned “Aesthetic.”

They were an interesting study of her mood, but they didn’t seem to reflect that of a satisfied woman. It occurred to him that the lack of revealing photos were a message to him, a tease in their own nonexistent way.

Apparently, he’d failed to make an impression.

That evening he’d come home at his regular time to find her curled up on the couch, nose deep in a book, her head was propped up on her hand and she barely registered his arrival. He’d known Belle long enough to understand that when she was engrossed with whatever it was she was reading, disturbing her was a bad idea, so he quietly retrieved his dinner from the warming oven and tried to eat his meal, glancing up at her every few minutes to see if she was ready to talk.

She finished with her book fifteen minutes later, closing it with a soft slap of the covers and a sigh that he felt deep in his bones. It was a good book, then, and he sat up straighter, anticipating Belle’s satisfied face as she plopped herself on top of the table to tell him about it as she liked to do sometimes when she was in a particularly good mood, but she merely brushed her hand along his shoulders, giving his nose a touch with the tip of a delicate finger, then left for the night, calling over her shoulder with a merry, “See you Monday, Mr. Gold!”

Belle was quick and he was lame, so she was out the door before he could reach the kitchen door and he stared at the empty hallway forlornly, feeling a small bit of hope die once more. Belle had an itch, he’d scratched it, and that was all there was to it.

His appetite gone, he scraped the food into the garbage and put his plate in the sink. His chest felt hollow and where his heart had been there was nothing but dust. He trudged up the stairs feeling a bit sorry for himself and consequently feeling stupid for it because what did he have to feel sorry about? He could have said something to her if he truly wanted to. Opened his mouth and told her that he liked her, That he wanted to spend more time with her and not just for the sex, but he didn’t. He didn’t. He said she was welcome to his shirts, but what he should have said was that she was welcome to his heart. Maybe it would have made a difference.

His throat felt funny. Tight and full of hurt that wanted to come out in a gross sob. He knew he was being an idiot. He knew it. He had no reason to feel rejected or… or used. None at all. But it hurt nevertheless.

He nudged his bedroom door open with his toe, already yanking at his tie with hard jerks that burned through the fabric of his shirt and he balled it in his hand to throw it against his wardrobe but his eyes caught sight of the black shirt lying on his bed and he slumped against the door frame.

Gold stared at it for a moment before he realized that he wasn’t hallucinating then the painful knot that was holed up in his throat burst out in a gasp of comprehension.

He was at his bed in three uneven strides, picking the shirt up with shaking hands. It had been lying folded neatly, but by the feel and the unforgettable scent emanating from it, Belle had used it thoroughly. His eyes scanned the room, but there was nothing else out of place except for the shirt and his slightly rumbled bed with the two deep impressions left on his counterpane where Belle must have knelt while she pleasured herself.

He lifted the shirt to his nose, inhaling deeply, and though it was no longer completely wet, the texture was stiff where it had dried with damp patches left in the creases. He wanted to stuff it into his mouth and feed off it, but he hesitated before giving it a tentative lick, eyes closing as his tongue came into contact with her lingering taste. He bit at it then, working his spit into it, loosening the sticky material with his teeth until her essence came loose and he was able to suck it down his throat, moaning as he swallowed her heady flavor.

Gold shucked off his jacket and collapsed on the bed, rolling over onto his back, scrabbling at his belt and yanking down on his zipper with desperate jerks, cock twitching with every accidental brush of his hand until he was able to shove his pants down to his knees and take his cock in hand. There was no need for teasing, no need for fantasies. Belle had knelt here in this spot, masturbated on his bed and came on his shirt with the intent to make him like this, bring him down to a level that had him willing to crawl over broken glass just for the privilege of burying his face into her wet pussy.

His cock was thick and hard and burning hot, every rough stroke of his hand bringing him closer to completion while he sucked the shirt dry of Belle and the evidence she left there. Within minutes he was left gasping as his cock pulsed inside his fist, the aftershock of his orgasm shivering through him and his throat sore from the hoarse cry as he came. The spray of his semen lay in thick ropes on his chest and the shirt in his mouth was sopping from his saliva.

Fuck.

He reached up with a shaking hand and slowly pulled the shirt out of his mouth, staring at the mess he’d made on himself.

Fuck. Oh, shit. Fuck.

 

* * *

 

Gold spent all of Saturday pouring through Belle’s Tumblr archives, keeping a running list of acronyms and phrases to look up. And, even though he now knew the meaning behind “GPOY”, which came directly after “aesthetic” as far as useless tags went, and “DILF,” which had featured prominently in the tags under a few of the pictures that he had been in (and didn’t that make his prick stir?), and “asdfg;lkjh,” which had no real meaning at all, but seemed to express everything, he still didn’t feel any closer to understanding Belle.

That Sunday, after he woke up inexcusably late in the morning having spent nearly all night sifting through her Tumblr, he was able to categorize three important facts.

First, that Belle had a certain affinity for old objects, which may explain her strange attraction to him, he thought, quickly glancing at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth.

Second, there was no rhyme or reason behind it all. She photographed whatever she felt like and, except for TMI Tuesday and Third Thursday, they were all fairly innocuous, mostly centering around items from his collection or passages from her favorite books.

Third, he desperately wanted to kiss her. On the mouth, specifically, though he wasn’t opposed to worshiping the rest of her body starting from her dainty, painted toes all the way up to the top of her head, with long detours in between. But, yes, a kiss… a kiss would be something special.

The pictures on her Tumblr that showed him in the background always featured her luscious mouth half-hidden in the corner, her pink lips either parted or smirking or being bitten by her perfect, white teeth — those dainty pearls sinking into the flesh of her lips teasingly as if to suggest other fleshy areas they could bite into. He’d been tempted to kiss her on Thursday, but she hadn’t given him an opportunity, and now he was wondering if he missed his chance.

Another, disdainful, glance at the mirror showed his own crooked teeth — ugly and with a gaudy gold cap right up front where there was no hiding it. He’d considered having them fixed years ago, but, as they were still strong enough and didn’t bother him, he’d never bothered. At least he still had his own teeth, he thought at the time. Now, with the possibility of kissing Belle on the horizon, he wished he’d had it done years ago. She might be eager to let him put his mouth on hers if his teeth weren’t so grotesque.

His only hope would be to get her so worked up that she didn’t get a chance to think about his teeth and how off-putting they were.

A quick trip to Clark’s Drugstore for a refill on his prescription had him lingering around the family planning aisle. At the end of the row of lubes and pregnancy tests and ovulation kits were more varieties of condoms than he’d known was possible. There certainly wasn’t this much range back when he’d last had the opportunity to use them. He eyed them carefully, wondering if he should buy a box and if Belle would appreciate the ones that were “ribbed for her pleasure” or if the ones that tingled would be better. Maybe it was too much wishful thinking, buying condoms, but it certainly seemed like things were heading in that direction and it would be better to be prepared.

It would be a shame if he missed his chance simply because he didn’t have any on hand.

Deciding on the spur of the moment, he grabbed a box from a brand that he used when he was younger and walked up to the pick up window to collect his medicine and, while there, his eye caught one of the end cap displays. He stared at it for a moment, wondering what ‘selfie stick’ even meant, then, when he realized what it was for, he grabbed a pack and added it to his purchase almost daring Mr. Clark to make a remark.

If Mr. Clark had found anything out of the ordinary about it, he was at least discreet enough to keep silent.

When he got home, he pulled out his top drawer and made to put the box of condoms in, but thought better of it. Belle was his housekeeper and, at some point, she would have to open this drawer to put away his socks and underwear. She would see them, and if, in seeing them, what if they made her angry at his assumptions?

Maybe he should tuck them inside one of his socks and hide it in the back.

Maybe he should grow the fuck up.

He tossed them in with a sigh then shut the drawer closed expecting never to need them now that he had them.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning came after a restless night and he was nervous as he walked down the staircase. He’d set out a few things for her on his bed, taking a leap of faith that she wanted to continue this little game they’d set in motion, but, of course, this all depended on her mood and if she wanted to play that day. He would find out later, he supposed, straightening his tie, wondering if it was one that she liked.

Belle was in the kitchen, busying herself with his breakfast (tea and toast with fig jam and a plate of eggs), but she had a ready smile for him as he came in, greeting him with a pleasant, “Good morning, Mr. Gold.” Her eyes flitted down to his tie then his suit pants before she set his food on his plate.

“Good morning, Miss French,” he replied, unable to keep his eyes from following her as she moved from the stove to the kitchen table. She scooted up onto it, as was her want, leaning back on her hands to expose a strip of soft white skin of her belly as her shirt rode up.

“How was your weekend?” she asked, and he knew that she was baiting him. That sly look on her face and the way she was trying not to smile meant that she knew he’d done unspeakable things last Friday.

He laughed a little, just a silent shake of his shoulders as he shook his head helplessly. “My weekend was… surprisingly productive,” he said, thinking back to his Saturday spent going through her Tumblr. “Yours?” he asked, taking a careful sip of his tea.

She shrugged and the shirt rode up just that much more and Gold wanted nothing more than to just lick that strip of skin with his tea-hot tongue.

“I read a new book,” she told him, clearly pleased with the ending.

He dragged his eyes from her stomach to her face where they belonged. “You didn’t go out with your friends?”

Her laughter startled him. “No, I don’t care much for the single scene around Storybrooke, Mr. Gold. Not my thing,” she added with a wrinkle of her little nose.

Ah. That explained it then. She was lonely and daring and probably a bit horny so why not seduce the boss for a bit of fun? Well, that hurt his pride, but he could understand it in a way. Belle was wasted in Storybrooke, far too clever and adventurous for the small town life, she was much more suited to treasure seeking or sailing around the world solo than dusting the bric a brac around his drafty, old house.

He thought quickly of the present he’d left for her on his bed. He should probably go upstairs and put it away. He’d been presumptuous when he bought it. He stirred the eggs on his plate, having lost all appetite again.

“And, uh, you?” Belle said after a beat, a delicate blush spreading across her downy cheeks as she looked at him from the corner of her eyes.. “Do you... like the single life here?”   

He glanced up at her. “I— no,” he said quietly. “Not very much.”

He didn’t bring up the fact that he’d never dated once since he moved here because she probably knew it. There were no secrets in Storybrooke. His heart felt funny, now. Funny and tight and it hurt and he wondered if he should see his doctor about it because it had been acting up last Friday, too.

“I was thinking,” she said when he didn’t offer anything else. “That maybe sometime tomorrow I could come in to your shop.”

That got his attention again, and he searched her face for anything that told him what her plans were, but she’d sat back up and was shyly looking down at her knees. Her hair had been pulled back at the sides, but a thin tendril had already pulled away and dangled in front of her nose. He itched to tuck it away, but after that he would want to kiss those luscious lips that she was now nibbling at with her teeth. He gripped his fork tightly in his fist. If he stabbed himself in the leg, maybe the urge would go away.

He still hadn’t answered her though and she was waiting so patiently. “You don’t need permission to come to my shop.”

She smiled, then, just a little bit, but it was enough to ease the clenching in his heart.

“Well, I’m… I was thinking that it would be nice to have some other things to photograph and you have such an interesting collection—”

“Tomorrow you said?” he asked, remembering that on Tuesdays she tended to post things that were borderline pornographic. And she wanted to come to his shop, to him, be near him and for whatever reason it was, whether she was lonely and needed a distraction or if she honestly liked him, it didn’t matter.

He inhaled sharply, not knowing how to answer unless it was to fall at her feet and beg to let him use his tongue on her. He cleared his throat, the sound jarring in the quiet kitchen. “Yes, well, I don’t see why not. And, um,” he added getting up from his seat carefully, laying his napkin alongside his plate as he rose. “I have something for you upstairs.”

Her mouth dropped slightly as she stared at him. “You do?” she asked, breathlessly, not even trying to hide her excitement.

“Yes,” he began, distracted momentarily by the sight of her pink tongue flicking out to lick at her lower lip. “I, uh, thought it might be…” he remembered another tag she was prone to use. “Relevant to your interests,” he finished, unable to keep from smirking.

She inhaled then let it out in a slow if shaky breath. Her eyes glinted at him from beneath her thick lashes. “I can’t wait, Mr. Gold.”

 

* * *

 

Gold expected to find Belle’s Tumblr to be filled with quotes from the book she’d read over the weekend since that was her typical Monday content. He thought she would wait at least until the afternoon to use his little gift, but when he opened up his laptop at nine o’clock and he was greeted by a picture of his own backside taken as he was walking out of the kitchen (captioned “unf”), he had to reset his expectations exponentially.

By ten o’clock he was bombarded by picture after picture that sent him nearly mad with desire. His fears about overstepping had been groundless. His fears of dying with an erection, however, were becoming more than likely, however.

His knees felt like they’d been replaced with jelly and collapsed against the counter, shifting the contents inside with a clatter.

It was his own fault, really, and he gladly took the blame as he scrolled down the page because his tie had never looked better than when it was nestled between her lovely breasts.

She used his gift wisely, giving just enough of a view to tantalize, but not reveal the full picture. She folded laundry on Monday mornings, usually towels and his sheets and he could feel his cock stirring when he realized that not only was she wearing his tie, but she’d also stripped down to her underwear — he could see her creamy thigh peeking out beneath the pile of towels in her lap.

A daring shot over her right shoulder gave a blurry glimpse of his tie draped over one of her dusky nipples. The next one was taken when she must have been pulling the tie out of her mouth, her pink lips wrapped around the dampened silk, seductive and enthralling. He wished he could pull at the tie with his own teeth.

Then she was reclined on the couch with her knees spread and poking out of the fluffy towels which were conveniently placed over her soft mound. Again, she kept her face out of the picture, but the sight of her legs spread out and the most delicate parts of her touching his clean towels had him hard in his pants within seconds. He hoped the scent of her would linger on them.

It was a wonder anything got done in his house.

His phone buzzed with a text, startling Gold from his Belle-induced stupor. No one ever texted him, but when he opened his phone, there was just a cryptic message.

“Show me when you’re finished,” it read and Gold didn’t have time to puzzle out the meaning behind it when a picture popped up. Her fist was wrapped around one end of the tie, pulling it up tight between her labia, wet and shimmering and ready to be sucked into his greedy mouth.

Another picture, this time taken over her shoulder showing the long, perfect expanse of her back and the rounded shape of her ass lifted up and there was the other end of his tie.

Show her when he was finished— Oh, fuck!

He scrambled for the fly of his trousers, completely forgetting that he was in his shop and that he was open for business. All he saw was Belle. Picture after picture showcasing his tie and how creative Belle’s mind worked and he pumped himself until the pleasure nearly became pain, but he was unable to control it any other way because Belle wasn’t finished and if she wasn’t done then neither was he. Not until she sent proof of her satisfaction would he come and when he received the picture of her dainty fingers, coated and webbed with her juices and resting on her soft belly, did he allow himself to come at last.

He’d fallen back onto the tall stool he used when his leg got tired, his seed spilling out over his hand onto the front of his pants and against the side of his counter in long spurts.

Breathing heavily, he stared at the mess he’d made of himself before he remembered Belle’s instructions and, as he opened the photo app on his phone, he debated what to take a picture of. Definitely not of his flaccid cock. Even though she’d seen it and held it in her hands, the idea caused it to shrink even more. His stained pants then and he snapped a picture of the pearly liquid before he could chicken out with another of his streaked counter for good measure.

He was tucking himself back into his pants when Belle texted back.

“That’s so hot,” then, a few seconds after, “You should probably clean all that up.”

Gold took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing wondering how far to take her meaning. She was right after all, it was an unsightly mess.

He got to his knees and started licking.


	3. GPOY

Gold fidgeted in his seat, trying to concentrate on his job and not his absent housekeeper. Belle told him she would be there though she’d never set a time and so he chose to work rather than fret. It wasn’t going very well. The bits and pieces of the clock he had been trying to repair lay on his workbench, mocking him in its uselessness. He threw the tweezers on the table in disgust then rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his hands. The shop had enough clocks as it was, he didn’t need another gathering dust on the shelves.

Belle’s Tumblr didn’t have anything interesting. He already knew what the second shelf in his study contained having bought all of it years before and the hazy shot of peonies was pretty, but bland. It was TMI Tuesday, but it seemed she’d decided not to play that day. Which disappointing, but she was ahead of schedule if you counted her revealing pictures from yesterday. He sighed, feeling morose and old and stupid, then refreshed the page just in case.

Kittens. He didn’t even have kittens. Belle must have reblogged it from someone.

It was going on lunchtime for him, which was roughly an hour after everyone else in town ate. Sometimes they spent their lunch breaks in his shop either trying to get a deal or grovel for an extension. He’d learned early on to eat later in the day — it was frustrating to be continually interrupted mid-bite and it just made him cranky, which made his customers nervous, which made him even more irritable, which made him lose his temper, which made his reputation grow in its fierceness and it wasn’t that he _cared_ so much as it annoyed him that people hated him in the town. They only saw the landlord, they didn’t see the person.

So, he ate late and in peace and everyone was happier.

It was five minutes to two now and there was a particularly good pastrami on rye waiting for him in the small dorm fridge he kept once he began his alone and in peace eating policy.

He’d just taken it out when the bell at the front rang out signalling a customer and he set the sandwich down with resignation that he would have to wait until whoever it was had finished begging for mercy before he got to eat.

Grabbing his cane, he stood up and slowly made his way to the curtain dividing the shop from the back — Gold was, at heart, a showman and he knew hearing the tap, tap, tap of his cane would set his customer on edge, which he would use to his advantage. He parted the curtain, a carefully neutral expression on his face then faltered when Belle turned around with a bright smile, the sign she’d turned to “closed” swinging in the window behind her. The afternoon light filtering in from the dusty windows set off her hair in a shimmering and golden red halo and, though her face was half in shadow, he could see her bright eyes smiling at him clearly.

She was breathtaking and there and… _there_.

“Hey,” he said then silently cursed himself for his lack of eloquence. “You, um, you came.”

That elicited a tender smile from her as she looked demurely at her feet before bringing the full force of those startling blue eyes back up to him. “That remains to be seen,” she said, coyly tilting her head to the side, her voice ripe with promise.

He swallowed, thickly, glancing at the sign then back to Belle. He opened his mouth to say something — anything — but all he could manage was a shaky exhale.

She came closer, sidling up until she stood in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. “I’ve been thinking about you. Walked all the way here.”

He glanced down at her shoes — a pair of wedge booties. He winced at the thought of walking that distance in those shoes, but Belle was young and energetic and didn’t need a cane, at least not for walking, and they made her legs look fucking gorgeous. She was wearing one of her flirty little skirts and a fuzzy sweater that looked almost as soft as her skin and he would unravel it row by row to expose the expanse of creamy skin if given half a chance.

“You, uh, must be tired,” he said, hoarsely.

A corner of her mouth lifted up and her eyes narrowed in pleasure. He must have said something right, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what it was.

“Not particularly. Not yet.”

He bit his lip on the inside, trying to keep the smile at bay. He knew he looked ridiculous. He knew he was being a fool, but he was game as long as she was and, if he was a fool, then he would be a happy one for at least a little while.

Gold backed up until he was behind the counter, intending to move things to the back room where he had a daybed and some privacy, but Belle followed him before she stopped him with a mind-blowing smile.

“I love that shirt,” she said, her eyes flicking down to his chest before roaming, slowly, over his body as if he was a tasty treat to be had.

Startled, he glanced at it having forgotten what he was wearing, It was the purple shirt with narrow stripes. Nothing fancy or even expensive. He looked at her, and, when their eyes met, her pink tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip and he nearly groaned out loud at the sight, his burning need to kiss her suddenly at the forefront of everything again.

“You look really nice,” she told him and the sincerity in her voice caused Gold’s shoulders to relax minutely.

“I, uh...thank you. You look beautiful, too.”

She leaned back against the counter, her elbows holding her slight weight and she looked at him, a trace of nervousness in her eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to do something for me,” she began.

Anything.

“What might that be?”

She help up her phone. “Take my picture?”

Instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder because of course she wasn’t speaking to him, but he was the only other person here. “You want me to…”

“I have this thing on Tuesdays and I’m running late. I was hoping you’d help me.”

There was a rush of pounding in his ears — a miracle seeing as how most of his blood had headed south for the afternoon.

He plucked the phone from her fingertips. “What would you like me to do?” he began, but she’d already turned around to lean over the counter. She’d crossed her arms under her head as a cushion and settled in with a slight hum before closing her eyes in contentment.

Her skirt had lifted up to expose the backs of her thighs just underneath her pert ass and Gold cursed, rough and deep.

He fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it with his numb fingers, but, after a few steady breaths, he took a couple of pictures of her, switching the filter to black and white first to gain an arty feel as the sun streamed in through the side window, shining on her backside all the way down to the hollow backs of her knees. He checked to see if there was anything identifying in them before he showed her the results. It was a beautiful picture and Belle smiled her approval before taking it from him.

“Did you want more,” he whispered, passing the phone to her for her approval.

She fiddled with her phone for a moment before handing it back to him without looking. “Can you take another — similar, only… lift up my skirt a bit,” she replied, giving him permission to touch her.

He slid his right hand up her leg, skimming lightly over her warm flesh until the hem of her skirt caught between the webbing of his thumb and forefinger, lifting the skirt upwards to expose the swell of her ass.

“Oh, fuck,” he growled at the sight of her. She’d forgone underwear— walked nearly a mile from his house to the shop wearing nothing underneath and her inner thighs were glistening with a wet sheen that begged to be licked off. He could feel his mouth-watering already at the prospect before him. The phone fell to the counter with a clatter.

The ghost of her voice rattled around in his head like a bean in a can, “I’ve been thinking of you.”

“What, precisely, have you been thinking of, Miss French,” he asked, leaning in to sniff at the heady tang of her arousal. He blew a gentle gust of air against her skin, delighting when she squealed and rubbed her knees together as a patch of goosebumps raised up on her pale flesh.

He ran his hand up along her inner thigh, pressing softly against her until the moisture had gathered up against his thumb until there was enough for a taste. He brought it up to his mouth — a stolen treat, but before he could lick it off, he leaned over — careful not to touch Belle with his body — to coat Belle’s lips with the wetness, running his thumb over her plump mouth, letting her tongue chase him fruitlessly. He pulled it away before she could voice a protest then lifted her skirt an inch higher.

She was glorious. An expanse of creamy skin and softness and rounded edges that called to his mouth and fingers.

“All good things,” she told him, wriggling even more at the lack of contact.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Then you weren’t thinking about me,” he said, as he ran the tips of his fingers over the swell of her ass. “You’re beautiful, Miss French.”

“Belle,” she insisted, lifting her hips a bit to chase his hand. “Call me Belle. And you have many good qualities, Mr. Gold.”

“Belle, you are beautiful," he said, deliberately ignoring her compliment, but the words from her Tumblr came back: "I like my employer."

She hummed at him, then, hurriedly, “There’s someone crossing the street. He’s coming towards the shop.”

“You flipped the sign to closed,” he reminded her, stroking a finger down the side of her hip.

“Didn’t lock the door.”

He looked up at the window, but he didn’t recognize the person walking their way.

“Did you leave it unlocked on purpose?”

She looked over her shoulder at him for the first time, a question unasked in her eyes. “Maybe?”

“Does it give you a thrill to do this in public?” he asked holding her down with both hands on her hips. "Would you like it if someone might see you? Look through a window and see you like this?"

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said, hoarsely.

He took another shuddering breath before whispering, “May I touch you?”

“Oh god, yes!” she moaned, lifting her hips up in short, jerky movements trying to entice him closer.

“Legs apart, love,” he told her in a low voice, gently nudging her knees with the knuckles of his right hand. They were trembling, but she spread her legs for him, lifting up on her tiptoes, and exposing everything to his view. He looked back for his stool, but it was behind another counter all the way over on the other side of the room. There was a box full of unsorted merchandise though and he pulled it over with his cane, settling down on it without taking his eyes from Belle, positioning himself underneath her.

The box was much lower than his stool and he had to look up to see her glistening pink folds above him, framed by damp curls that were soft against the backs of his fingers. His touch was feather light against her, savoring this gift she was giving him.

“Do you see anyone else out there?” he asked as he squeezed her cheeks, watching them spread apart before he loosened his grip, smoothing down the red marks with gentle swipes of his hands. He was hard now. Hard and ready and aching, but he kept himself very still except for his hands and his unsteady breaths.  

“Hngh… Yes.”

“How many?”

“Just… one.”

“Who?”

“Leroy?”

“He won’t come in.” He blew another breath against her skin then sat back, squirming in his seat to take the pressure off his aching cock.

“I want you to keep count of who walks by. So far that’s two.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold," she whispered to him.

"Touch yourself. Show me what you like."

She inhaled sharply, and he almost regretted his command, except he was watching her and they way he could see her muscles clench, the slit in her folds pulsating and her ass tightening as his breath ghosted over her.

Belle was splayed over his counter, one arm under her head and she brought the other down to her glorious cunt circling her clit. She was teasing him now with her fingers and her harsh gasps as she came closer to completion.

“You look amazing. I could watch you finger yourself all day.” His position from below showed him everything and his mouth watered for her. "God, you're dripping." He gently spread her folds with the pads of his thumbs, opening her up to him.

He wanted to suck on her. She was breathing heavily and responding beautifully to how his hands caressed her skin. Instead, he held off, dragging the flat of his tongue up over the swell of her butt cheeks, drawing narrowing figure eights up and down and around until he grazed the tight hole of her arse. She jumped, a moan coming belly deep from her throat as she thrust back into him.

He mouthed at her, tracing every crevice and fold and dip he could find until, aching and gasping, he drew back to look at his handiwork.

"Three!" she panted out, startling him from his reverie. "David Nolan and, oh, four, Mary Margaret. They're heading this way."

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, ready to end their play and help her off the counter.

"N-no! God, no! Don’t stop," she cried, her fingers furiously working at her cunt, pumping in and out in time to her breathless sobs. "Five. I don't know wh-who."

There was a bead of liquid hanging from the fleshy nub of her clit, too tempting to resist, and he leaned forward to pluck it from her with the tip of his tongue, lightly brushing against her and the sound of her wailing was music to his ears.

"Oh! Six! Six! It's the m-mayor oh god. That feels so good."

He reluctantly pulled away. "Regina has been known to barge in closed or not."

She made a grunting noise from the back of her throat, thrusting her fingers faster. "Keep going. Please!"

"Very well." He spread her wider and let his tongue follow her fingers, taking the moisture from them every time they emerged, dripping, from her pussy.

She tasted divine and he told her so, murmuring words of adoration against her folds, flicking his tongue out to play amongst her folds or lick at the tight hole at her backside while she worked herself madly and breathlessly counted off the number of people who passed by the shop.

He was past worrying about someone walking into the shop to find him crouched down beneath his housekeeper with a face smeared with her juices and he delved after her, licking and scraping his teeth against her until he sucked her clit into his mouth one last time as she came with a shuddering and hoarse cry.

Her thighs were quivering and he eased her down on his lap, hissing at the weight of her against his cock and how good she felt there. How right.

Her head had lolled back as she looked up at him, a bleary smile on her lips and her eyes roaming over his face.

"You're a mess," she told him. "You have me all over you."

He chuckled a bit, holding her close to him until she squirmed away, taking his pocket square and wiping at his face with exaggerated attentiveness.

He was mildly disappointed that she didn't lick it off, but that quickly dissipated when she moved against him, feeling the hard ridge of his cock.  

"Mr. Gold, you seem to be in quite a state."

"Am I?"

"I'd like to take care of you."

"Well, you are my caretaker."

"That I am. And what would you like for me to do?"

He hesitated, looking into her beautiful blue eyes for any sign or hesitation, but that lip-biting smirk was back distracting him.

"M-may I kiss you?"

Her face softened in surprise before she nodded her head with a whispered, “yes,” lifting her face, her eyes watching his every reaction.

He brushed up against her lips, gentle at first, then with an urgency that welled up from his gut lest she change her mind. Her lips were soft and plump and coated with her arousal and he growled at the reminder of how good she tasted. He licked at her mouth until he’d stolen every last trace of the stickiness on her lips and only then did she open up her mouth to him,

"Gold," she sighed, running her fingers through his hair until she held onto a fistful at the base of his skull. The pull of her hand guided him to the places she wanted to be kissed, but he kept moving back to her lovely mouth, drinking the kisses from her until they were gasping for air.

When she pulled away, her eyes were nearly blown black and she drew in a shuddering breath as she stared at him, panting.

"I want to take care of you," she told him, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "Let me?"

He blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying because she was taking care of him. She was letting him kiss her and if only she would continue then he would be as happy as a clam. It wasn't until she reached down between them to stroke at his crotch that he remembered his predicament.

"I have a cot in the back room," he said, shyly lest she get the idea that he used it for workplace trysts all the time, but Belle was clever as she was beautiful, and she would know that there hadn't been anyone in a very long time.

She stood up on shaking legs then helps him up with the aid of his cane. He meant to take her by the hand and lead her to the back. He thought that they could take their time and linger, but when he reached the velvet curtain, he turned to her and she was looking at him with something more than mere "like" and more than just lust.

"Oh, Belle, you don't know what you do to me," he murmured, yanking her close until he had her lips again. She parted them immediately, whimpering as his tongue rasped against hers.

He pulled and plucked and licked at her until his knees were shaking and Belle was trying to climb onto him. They grappled at each other, trying to find a balance when he grabbed at the curtain and it ripped off the clips one by one, popping — plip, plip, plip —until they both fell into a billow of velvet.

Gold took the brunt of the fall, cradling Belle as they went down. The pain in his ankle flared, but what did that matter when Belle was rubbing herself against his him, soaking through the fabric with her arousal until his cock, rigid and throbbing, was coated with her essence.

"I'm gonna take care of you now," she told him, scooting down until she was fumbling with his belt.

His hips jerked up instinctively and his eyes rolled back in anticipation, but when her hot, dry hand reached underneath the waistband of his boxers, he nearly came on her face with the shock.

"Let me, let me, let me," she chanted softly until his pants were pulled down to his ankles and his cock was free, straining and bobbing against his belly.

"Fu— oh, fuck!" he yelled as the first, exquisite touch of her tongue flicked across the head of his cock. He grabbed fistfuls of the curtain to keep from burying them into her hair and shoving her down, deeper, then he hissed, nearly in pain, as she dragged her tongue up from the base of his balls up to the very top of him, wetting him down before taking him fully into her mouth.

He was insensible to everything but Belle. Nothing else existed except for her and the devilish way she sucked at him. His ass clenched tightly as his hips thrust up and she gamely took it, moaning around him and applying even more suction while moving her head in tiny circles even as she bobbed up and down until he hit the base of her throat.

He came almost without warning, his balls drew up and his dick hardened impossibly as she sucked and, with a guttural cry, he came into her mouth while she noisily gulped and swallowed him down.

Panting and with a bright white light busting in sparks behind his eyes, he pawed at her, pulling her up from his crotch up to where he could hold her and kiss her and worship her anew.

She crawled up his chest with a pleased smirk on her face and, straddling him, she leaned down to kiss him again. He opened his mouth to her with a pleased noise, then he tasted a flood semen.

She'd only swallowed some of it.

His eyes widened, then closed in bliss as he lapped at her, chasing the taste of himself on her tongue while she traced along the sides of his face with her fingertips. She sighed into his mouth, the sound giving life to the unnamed hope that had grown in his heart since he’d discovered her Tumblr.

At last, when he'd licked up every drop she had for him, she sat up on his chest, her legs comfortably on either side of him as she fondly gazed down at him.

"I like to share," she told him, stroking the hair off his face with a smile. "And you've been _such_ a good boy."


	4. Chapter 4

Gold hung the velvet curtain back up on its rings while Belle ordered take away from Granny’s up the street. Ten minutes and Ruby would be waiting at the curb with it ready to go. They wouldn’t even have to get out of the car, which was good seeing as how he’d ruined yet another suit and Belle’s clothes weren’t in much better shape.

The food was handed to them without mention of Belle’s mussed hair or his missing tie and pocket square though there was a look of suspicion leveled in his direction that made him both want to crow in victory and shrink into his socks. He did neither, obviously. Surely Belle, despite her strange attraction towards him, would hate it if anyone actually _knew_ about it.

She played with his ring while he drove home, running a finger along the light blue stone — the same color as her eyes when she was standing in the sunlight — until the press of her hand against it became too much and he turned his hand to hold hers, cupping it lightly in his palm. They drove in silence, holding hands as if it was a normal thing, as if touching her was accepted outside their strange sexual trysts, until he pulled up at the curb and had to pull away to shut the engine off.

“You hungry any?” he asked her, eyes darting everywhere on her face, trying to memorize this moment when everything was good and right and perfect. Before he inevitably screwed up and she left. 

She shrugged a shoulder, screwing her mouth into a wry smile. “Not really. I ate earlier.”

He stared at the steering wheel, swallowing hard. Why was it so difficult to talk to her now?

“Is it?” she asked, softly.

“What?”

“Is it so difficult to talk to me?”

He looked up to see her staring at him with her head tilted to the side. “Did I say that out loud?”

Her mouth widened in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, you did. I…” she trailed off, staring out the window at his house. His big, lonely, stupid house. “I guess it’s awkward if you let it be.”

“Well, I don’t want it to be.”

“So don’t let it. Be normal.”

“I’m not really sure what that is to be honest.”

She snorted, pulling at the door handle to get out and he scrambled after her, racing around the car to hold the door open before she climbed out.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, looking at his shirt. He wondered if she liked it. He’d give it to her if only she asked.

He didn’t know what to say. _You just had my dick in your mouth, the least I can do is hold the door open_ , didn’t seem appropriate, so he bit down on his tongue instead, shaking his head at their foolishness. She was going to leave after today. He knew it.

She had the door unlocked and open for him and they spent another uncomfortable moment each waiting for the other to go in first until, with her teeth firmly pressed into her pink bottom lip before ducking her head to hide her face, Belle headed straight for the kitchen. He silently cursed at himself for his own stupidity. He should be kissing her right now, showering her with sweet words of affection and showing her just how much she meant to him. Instead, he was standing on his porch and waiting for the house to crumble on top of him.

“I’m not going to let you make this weird,” she said over her shoulder, her skirt swishing madly as she walked. He quickly dug out his phone and snapped a picture while her back was turned. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

He strode after her, his cane barely a thought any more after years of use, and he found her setting out his lunch on the counter instead of the table.

“I have a few things left to do today,” she said without looking at him, busying herself with putting his sandwich on a plate then looking at the pickle in her hand thoughtfully before placing it just right next to the sandwich.

“What do you have left to do and can you leave it for tomorrow?”

Her dimple flashed before she hid her smile, turning her head away from him. “I could, possibly, let it go, but,” she said, sidling up to him, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “I have a very exacting employer.”

“Do you now?” he asked, amused. The afternoon light did amazing things to her hair, he noticed. She glowed.

“I do. Very demanding. Kind of grouchy. Liable to pout like a baby if his socks aren’t folded.”

The teasing went right over his head as the box of unopened condoms lying in wait for her to find flashed in front of his eyes and a flight of panicking moths fluttered up from the pit of his stomach to clog up his throat. “I think he wouldn’t mind if you, uh, left it for another day.”

“I’ve already seen the condoms, Mr. Gold,” she whispered in his ear, standing up no her toes to give his earlobe a nip with her sharp little teeth.

“You did?” he asked, turning his head a bit to look at her. She was too close to get a see properly — her head was resting on his shoulder, but he could see the smile in her eyes and feel the weight of her as she leaned against him as she played with a button on his shirt.

“Uh, I’m not…” he began, blushing furiously, stupidly because he was a grown man and she was a grown woman and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. They’d already done everything but fuck at this point. “I don’t expect anything, I just thought… It might be good to be prepared.”

“I don’t mind, Mr. Gold,” she said and he could feel her body shake as she laughed at him. “They aren’t really necessary, but I appreciate it. It means you were thinking of me and, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but, uh, I like it when you think of me.”

“Me?” he asked and at her quizzitive glance he clarified, “me specifically? You want me to think of you and not…”

“Are you asking if I’m seeing anyone else?”

He didn’t even know if she was seeing _him_. He wanted it to be true so he didn’t mention it. If he said nothing she wouldn’t be able to set him straight, that he was only a placeholder until something better than came along.

“No,”  he said in a low, soft voice. “You told me the other day that you didn’t like the single scene. I assumed you meant that you weren’t currently dating.” He turned fully, his hands sliding down her arms to grasp her lightly by the fingers. He looked at her fully, honestly. “I just hoped, after… after what’s happened that you might want to...” “Date”, was what he meant to say, but “fuck” could easily be surmised, too.

“I do. I’ve wanted to for a long time. It’s just— it’s not something you typically mention to your employer during a performance review, you know?”

Her frank honesty startled him, making him blink in surprise, then he laughed at himself, a low chuckle that shook his shoulders while she looked at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. That was Belle — no pretense, no tricks, no secret agenda. She wanted to and so she told him so.

“Are you very hungry?” she asked, staring at the food on his plate.

He was. He’d skipped lunch and breakfast had been hours ago, but— Oh. Oh!

“You… _Now_?” He felt himself stirring already at the prospect. Another startling discovery in this week of startling discoveries. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to be ready so soon a week ago, but the mere idea of more Belle had him straining against the front of his trousers within seconds.

“Unless you’d rather not?” she asked when he didn’t answer right away.

He smirked, taking her by the hips, letting his fingers bunch up her skirt before he held her up against him, letting her feel the way he was hardening for her. She gasped, opening her mouth a fraction before the pink tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip. His eyes followed it, enticed by the quick movement and he leaned down to press a soft kiss against her mouth — chaste, sweet, full of promise if she chose to accept his silent offer.

“I definitely do,” he murmured, nuzzling the line of her jaw with his nose until he found the shell of her ear. “More than you know.” He was glad they’d already fooled around in the pawn shop because, if he hadn’t already spent himself, he’d be a very poor performer once they got to the crux of things upstairs.

She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs to his room where he found a clean shirt waiting on the bed. He glanced at it, then looked at Belle with a raised eyebrow. “Plans for later?” he asked, picking up with a smirk.

She smiled, nervously. “Actually, no, I picked it up from the cleaners earlier. I, um...” she ducked her head, sheepishly. “I was in a rush to get to your shop so I just threw it there,” she muttered, speaking so fast that he had to think about what she’d said to understand it fully.

When he did, a delicious warmth spread down from his chest to his belly where it settled like molten fire. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so… cupping his cock through his pants.

Oh, she was fucking glorious!

Her lips spread into a wide smile, her eyes widening with delight and confusion and he realized that he'd spoken out loud again. He'd have to work on that, but, for now, he would whisper things into her ear that would make her blush. Perhaps she didn't hear it enough, how beautiful she was, how precious, how wonderful and, perhaps, he would be the one to tell her so if only to see that miraculous look on her face once more.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as she tackled him, her legs wrapped around his waist while he struggled to stay upright as she attacked his face with her soft, sweet lips.

“Wait for me,” he murmured, trying in vain to follow her mouth with his, missing her lips by just fractions until he snuck a hand underneath her skirt and found her folds, wet and hot and when he touched her, she stilled with a gasp, then gave out a low moan while the pads of his fingers played with her, stroking and rubbing her delicate flesh until she was squirming in his lap.

“...’nside me,” she moaned against his mouth and there was nothing he would deny her if she always spoke to him in that broken voice.

He unfolded two fingers for her, letting Belle twist and shimmy until they were at her entrance and sank down on them, clenching around them tightly as an orgasm powered through her leaving her shaking and gasping. She rode his hand through it, her hair hiding her face and her head lolling along her shoulder as she rocked against him. Gold tsked, taking her chin gently between two fingers and lifting her face up until he could look into her eyes. They were blown black, disoriented and unfocused, and her mouth hung open as she uttered a low moan from the back of her throat.

“Look at me,” he murmured, quickly brushing his lips across her cheek. “Keep those eyes open, I want to see you when you come.”

Her eyelids fluttered as he pumped his fingers inside her, but she kept them on him, her breath hitching in her chest as he curled his fingers inside her, stroking the sensitive pad of flesh he found, coaxing her quivering body into another orgasm. Belle stared at him, concentrating hard on his face and his hands and her body as he encouraged her, muttering filthy things into her ear, watching as her face twisted in a facsimile of pain as she grew frantic with her impending orgasm. She arched her back, nearly tumbling them off the bed, but he clutched at her and fell backwards, catching her in his arm while she writhed on top of him, moaning helplessly in his ear. He slowed his fingers, wanting to drag out every last shred of her pleasure before carefully removing his hand, bringing it up to her lips where she licked at his sticky fingers. He lapped at her tongue with her every swipe, his lips bumping against hers as they traded tastes, working to clean his fingers until there was nothing left to clean and there was only their mouths together, breathing each other’s breaths, trying to delve into the other before pulling away, gasping for air.

His cock was aching, nestled there between her thighs, her legs were straddling him and her rosy knees poked out from  beneath the hem of her skirt. She was blazing hot against him, her naked sex burning him even through his trousers and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from coming inside his pants.

“Oh, god,” she said, finally, resting her head against his chest. He could feel her hummingbird-fast heartbeat fluttering rapidly as he held her and felt his own heart hammering in time to it, rump-a-thump-thump, rump-a-thump-thump, rump-a-thump-thump.

She lifted her head again, staring at him, dazed, through her sweat-dampened hair that clung to her face. “Are you ready for those condoms now?” she asked, scooting up in his lap to rub herself against him, her lips twisting in a smirk.

He laughed silently. “Still not enough?” he teased as he moved his hips in time with her.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough,” she said, her voice cracking, unexpectedly fragile.  

His smile faded and he cupped her soft cheeks, bringing her down for another kiss, tender and sweet, pouring everything into it. Dear god, if only she couldn't get enough, he thought as they slowly removed each others’ clothes. If only he could guarantee that she would stay with him, not for this mindless love affair, but something truly fulfilling where she might learn to love the unlovable. He hadn't known how desperate he was for her until he’d opened up this Pandora’s box and now that he had, he wished that he was as worthy of her attentions as she seemed to think.

He had to leave her arms to grab the box of condoms from his dresser, but, when he turned back, she’d settled herself on the edge of his bed, her feet dangling over the floor by a good six inches, and the sight of her in his bed grounded him as nothing had before. This was Belle and this was real and this was happening and he was the luckiest bastard that had ever walked the earth. He fumbled with the box, ripping the cardboard open in haste and sending the packets sprawling on the floor at his feet. He stared at them stupidly for half a second before scooping one up with a clumsy hand, returning to Belle as she giggled quietly at him.

She took it from him and set it next to her on the bed before grabbing his shirt to yank him snug between her open legs.

Gold thought before, if they’d ever had sex, that it would be fast. Explosive and all-consuming, burning hot and bright to be snuffed out just as quickly in a sweaty, jumbled mess, but, to his surprise, Belle’s forwardness disappeared once it came time to take her shirt off and an uncharacteristic shyness took over.

It wasn’t feigned — Gold thought he knew Belle well enough by now to know when she was faking or not, at least when it came to her sexuality. Belle was bold and brash and knew what she wanted and liked to be watched and, now, to see her curl up into herself as her blouse slipped down her arms was disconcerting.

He gently ran his hands up and down the gooseflesh on her arms. She was shivering, but then, so was he. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

She laughed, a strange little hysterical huff and she shook her head at him. “It’s not that. I just — I really like you and I really want this to happen.” She pressed her lips into a thin line before bringing her mouth to his ear. “Just thinking about you makes me want to come sometimes,” she confessed, her breath ghosting over his cheeks. “I have to go home nearly every day and fuck myself before I can get any sleep and I don’t know how to handle it now.”

His heart pounded at her confession and he sighed into her hair, low and broken as a rush of heat spread deep around his balls, settling there heavy and insistent.

“Just let it happen,” he whispered, kissing her throat until her head leaned to the side as he used his teeth to nip and bit at the soft flesh at the nape of her neck. She worked at his shirt and trousers, peeling his clothes off as if there was a golden ticket hidden somewhere on his person.

Every inch of his skin was exposed to her hungry gaze and he wanted to shrink into himself because how could she want him when she was so perfect? He trembled as she ran her hands over his heated flesh, running softly along his skin until he burned with the sensation and he gave out a broken groan when she grazed the outsides of his thighs with her sharp nails, scratching at him in her haste to bring him closer.

She laid back on the bed before him, her hair spread out like a halo around her beautiful face. Her skin shone in the light, dewy from the perspiration that clung to her heated skin and he leaned down, ignoring the pain in his ankle, to dip his tongue into the cleft between her breasts, lapping at the sweat pooled there as she tugged him closer between her legs, rubbing herself against his hard length.

He was going to come then and there if she kept doing that and part of him, that primal male part that needed to mark his territory, wanted to see her covered with his semen and then lick it off her pert breasts, but he ached to be inside her, this beautiful woman whose very presence in his life outshone the sun.

There was a fumbling as they both reached for his cock, the head swollen and nearly purple with his urgent need and, after rolling the condom on, she held his hand, helping as he guided himself inside, her velvety soft folds enveloping him until his hips were cradled within her thighs. He stood at the side of his bed, gasping as he slid into her soft warmth. Disbelief and ecstasy, the aching and pleasure and awe, it all overwhelmed him in that moment when they joined together and his knees shook as he struggled to stay upright. He pulled out slowly, watching his cock slide out, his mouth slack at the sight of her wrapped around him, then looked up at a soft sound Belle made.

“’S beautiful,” he told her as she struggled to lift her head with a need to stare at them. “So fucking beautiful,” he said again as he slowly thrust back in, his eyes drawn back to where they were joined and the way he glistened with her wetness.

Belle spread her legs wide for him and he held her folds open so he could watch the slip and slide of his cock and how she clenched around him with every thrust of his hips until the feel off her became too much and he had to pick up the pace before he went mad. He gripped at her thighs to pound into her, her knees flopping and her hands gripping at her breasts, pinching at her nipples until he could feel the fluttering of her inner muscles as another orgasm barreled through, squeezing at him while he desperately tried to last longer for her, wanting to prove that he deserved her. It was no use. Belle felt too good, sounded too delicious, and looked too mesmerising as she writhed in her pleasure, babbling wordlessly and she pulled him inexorably down over the edge into oblivion with her.

He collapsed on top of her, gasping as his heart raced and he wondered briefly if he was in the beginning stages of a heart attack before it slowed down enough for him to regain enough strength to push himself up on arms that felt as rubbery as cooked noodles. He stared down at Belle, her face heated and sweaty and beautiful and a smile spread across her lips as she opened her eyes to look at him.

“Oh god, that was worth the wait,” she told him, laughing as she tried brushing her hair out of her eyes. It seemed her arms weren’t working either so he helped her a bit, lifting away every tendril that was plastered to her face and tucking it back until she could see unhindered again. Her eyes glittered with moisture, and his heart dropped to his stomach for a moment as he thought he’d hurt her, but she only shook her head at him silently and brought him down for a delicate kiss before pushing him away with a playful shove.

He disposed of the condom into a waste basket next to the bed and crawled up next to her, holding out his arms to her in the hopes that she would take his silent offer of affection.

She curled up around him with a squeal and a tiny smile, draping her leg over his thighs and and arm lying on his chest. Cuddling. He’d almost forgotten it existed until now and he held her close, feeling her steady heartbeat next to his and learning how she wiggled her toes until she settled down, quiet. He’d never seen her so still before. She’d always been such a force of nature to him. Always moving, always doing something. Even when reading, she would twirl a piece of hair or scrunch up her face when she got to a spot in the book that she didn’t like, but now, she lay against him as if she had been filled with sand.

“I don’t feel like getting up,” she murmured against his chest.

“Then stay,” he said, simply, nuzzling his nose in her hair. She smelled of sweat and sex and adventure and love and if she wished he would get down on his knees and beg if only she would stay. For a minute, for an hour, for ever.

She squirmed against him until every curve of her body fit in next to him perfectly, squeezing him tight for a moment until he groaned in mock pain, but his laughter gave him away and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, chuckling along with him. “Okay, I’ll stay.”


End file.
